When the Twilight Fades
by Kate Anderson
Summary: They were the lucky ones. Grissom/Sara


TITLE: When the Twilight Fades  
  
AUTHOR: Kate Anderson (kateanderson@thirdwatch.net)  
  
RATING: PG  
  
SPOILERS: General knowledge of the series. No major spoilers.  
  
DISCLAIMER: I don't own the characters of CSI or anything related to the show. If I did - I'd be rich.  
  
******  
  
"Do you remember?" he asked, holding up a photograph in a cracked frame. Cracked glass, slashing the faces. Tarnished silver, weathered by the years.  
  
"Could I forget?" she replied with a smile and tapped the side of her head with her index finger. "This mind is still sound."  
  
A brief flicker of something...pain, maybe...flashed across his face and he sat down beside her, still holding the photograph in his hands. "Be honest with me?" he asked softly.   
  
"Always."  
  
"Did you love him?"  
  
"Like a brother, Griss (for she still called him that, despite the passing of the years), nothing more." she replied and leaning over, she took the photo from his hands.  
  
"You weren't at his funeral."  
  
"I wanted to be." she whispered. The photo trembled in her hands. Hands that had once been slim and pale now looked as though they should belong to someone else.  
  
Grissom had let his hair go as he grew older. Wild curls flew in all directions, some reaching for the sky, others reaching for the ground. His hair was making a last ditch attempt at escape. He put a hand on it, patting it down. A habit he had picked up; he was thinking hard. "But it wasn't your fault." he said finally.  
  
"It wasn't my fault? Then whose fault was it?" Sara asked, her voice choked with emotion. "No one else was there, Grissom!"  
  
"We could always blame it on Catherine." The joke was weak and not at all funny. Sara's frown deepened and a lone tear trickled down her cheeks.  
  
She wished that she could be transported back through time, become the woman that she was in the picture. Smiling, laughing and holding on to a handsome young man. Nick...Nicky. "How is Catherine?" Sara asked, hoping to change the subject away from her and Nick.  
  
Grissom shrugged. "As well as can be expected, I suppose. I spoke with Lindsey a few days ago, she was hoping that you and I could come visit her soon."  
  
Who would have thought that vibrant Catherine would ever have ended up as the shell of a woman she had become. Lindsey did her best and each time Sara saw her, she urged the young woman to put her mother in a home. Each time Lindsey refused. "We should go today," Sara said and threw the picture aside. "Maybe bring her some flowers?"  
  
"Who? Catherine or Lindsey?"  
  
"Both." Sara said. "We can stop by the florists on our way."  
  
Unable to let go of the past, Grissom and Sara still owned a Tahoe. Sara fastened her seatbelt, clutching her purse in her lap, imagining that she and Grissom were zipping off to solve a murder. Not to visit their friend who would not recognize them and yell at them to get away from her.  
  
"I meant to tell you," Sara said as Grissom began to drive. "Warrick called the other day."  
  
Grissom's face seemed to tighten, momentarily vanishing the wrinkles. His lips pursed as though he had just sucked on a lemon. "Oh." he managed to get out from between his lips. "What did he have to say?"  
  
"He's doing fine. He says hi."   
  
Grissom changed lanes without checking over his shoulder and narrowly missed hitting a small, white car. The blaring horn drove into the distance. He said nothing more until they arrived at the florists, where he leaned back in his seat and informed Sara that she was to choose the flowers.  
  
The mention of Warrick revived nothing but bad memories. Warrick's refusal to attend Nick's funeral. His refusal to visit Catherine. The last Grissom heard, he had lapsed back into his gambling habit. Good for him.  
  
Sara returned a few minutes later, clutching a large bouquet wrapped in purple paper. She was smiling, a fact that unnerved Grissom. "Greg was working," she said happily, as she climbed into the Tahoe. "He says hello."  
  
Greg, the brilliant lab technician, reduced to working as a florist. His hair, Grissom mused, probably matched the colours of the flowers. "Griss? Are we going to sit here all day?" Sara asked impatiently.  
  
Why she was in such a hurry to pity Catherine and Lindsey was beyond Grissom but he started the engine and they were on their way soon enough. "Do you ever feel as though you made the wrong choice?" Grissom asked, seemingly out of the blue as they idled at a red light.  
  
"I've made a lot of choices," Sara replied. "But none of them have been wrong."  
  
The light changed and a small, sporty car beside them revved its engine and flew through the intersection. "You could have chosen Nick." Grissom said gruffly. "Don't you ever think about that? He might still be here if you had."  
  
"Or," Sara said. "I might be alone. But I'm not, am I."  
  
Grissom pressed down on the brake and brought the Tahoe to a stop outside of a small house. The lawn looked as though it hadn't been mowed in a very long time. "It's not a lawn," Lindsey always said. "It's a weed patch."  
  
A thin trail of broken cement led to the front door, and Sara stepped carefully over the cracks, the flowers in her sweaty palms. Grissom followed her, complaining about the visit and his sore knees. The classic curmudgeon, he had become.  
  
The doorbell played a cheerful chime as Sara pressed down on it. "Maybe they're not home," Grissom said, after they had waited for a few minutes. "We should go."  
  
"No," Sara said. "Give her a few more minutes."  
  
As she spoke the last word, the door opened, revealing a thin, blonde woman, nervously wringing her hands. "Oh," she said, shaking her head. "You shouldn't have come. She's having a bad day."  
  
"Can we at least say hello?" Sara asked, trying to ignore Grissom's tugging on her sleeve and his murmured no's.  
  
A shrill scream cut through the air and Lindsey winced while Sara jumped. "I don't think so," Lindsey said.  
  
"At least take these then." Sara said, holding the flowers out. "Tell her that Greg picked them out."  
  
Lindsey nodded, her eyes downcast as she accepted the bouquet. The door closed quietly, staring at Sara with cheerful Christmas wreath eye. "Told you we shouldn't have come." Grissom muttered.  
  
They drove back to the home. Their home in the gated community where those that had worked hard could pretend to live well. It was there that Sara turned the photo of herself and Nick on its face while pretending to dust.  
  
Grissom retired to the patio with a glass of lemonade to try and forget Warrick and the sound of Catherine's scream. Sara dusted away the memories of Greg counting her change with shaking hands.  
  
"How it that we are the only survivors?" Sara asked quietly, joining Grissom on the patio with her own cold glass in hand.  
  
Grissom's hand flew to his hair where it remained until he had an answer. "We're the lucky ones, I suppose."  
  
Sara nodded and pulled out a white, plastic chair. Her glass was set down on the table, where it would stay until the ice cubes had melted and she would complain. Grissom saw her hand, fingers tapping the table. He laid his own over it and gave her a smile. 


End file.
